Till Kingdom Come
by blasphemeo
Summary: Ginny Weasley is held hostage for the War, & becomes dependent on Draco Malfoy, her keeper. As she feels no one will save her, she shows the Stockholm Sydrome for her hero. GWDM, AU.
1. Steal My Heart

**Author's Note:** Well, this is going to be my first real full length, but it's still probably not going to be that long. It's AU, considering the seventh book & it's Ginny/Draco. So, please, do me a favor, read, review, etc.

_Summary:_ Ginny Wealsey is taken hostage during the War, and her somewhat keeper happens to be the fallen Draco Malfoy. However, in a desperate attempt for survival with sexual abuse, Ginny becomes very attached to Draco as she fears that no one will be her hero, except for him._

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Till Kingdom Come 

**stockholm syndrome –**

_an emotional attachment to a captor formed by a hostage as a result of continuous stress, dependence, and a need to cooperate for survival._

**-x-**

Do you remember when you were young? The faerie tales you were told to make you calm, like a Hindu cow, before you fell asleep? The glass of milk or juice every morning to make you grow big and strong? The small, frequent smiles when you asked a clever question? Do you remember these things? I fear as though I'm beginning to forget the real world. I'm forgetting my memories; the only thing that kept me sane for the longest time after everything I knew failed me.

I can't hold on much longer. My grip is growing tired of waiting for someone to save me from these chains and shackles and this stone prison. I need a hero or a fairy godmother to save me. I need strength to pull through. I need something in the very small sense, compassionate. My breathing grows more strained each day, and every day he comes to visit I feel a bit more alive. He smiles, he talks to me as he lets me eat the food I'm given twice a day.

We talk about stupid things. Things that send us both into times when we were enemies. The World Cup, for instance, or pet peeves. On occasion, we can't help but to laugh quietly, because if someone hears, we'll both be hurt. Him, more so than me.

He'll walk in, early in the morning, take out his wand and undo the chains on my wrists that hang above my head. He always looks a bit sadder each day, but I don't ask him why. We don't talk about the important things, big things. The little things keep us both saner.

This isn't to say that this prison hold is a luxury. But to stay optimistic, I have to fake it for it to be real. I have to smile and laugh with him because I'm not sure if he really understands how much those other men hurt me every day long after he's left my side. All those other men must be more than ten years older than I, the type of antagonist that doesn't care if you're only eighteen or that you're unarmed.

These are the type of followers the Dark Lord has raised, and it is the very least to say he raised them well. They are the type of rogues that will point their wands in your face and torture you without using any physical or magical force. This is what they are trained to do. They ask you your name, your age, your mother's name, your father's name, your sister's name, and so on. They ask you all about your life, and get all they can out of you, so you can see your life before you eyes. Then they say goodbye, and make sure it's real with that one curse.

I have been here for twenty five days. I honestly wish they had straight up killed me, rather than hold me hostage.

**-x-**

"_Imperio_," the man's voice comes from the doorway before he enters. All I can do is feel my body fall limp against the granite walls and in the chains that holds my wrists above my head. If you've never been under the Imperius Curse, it is basically like being one of those dolls you've always played with as a young girl, just much more flexible. You never get a choice of what to do, and you can always pick up from where you left off.

He climbs on top of me, his breath reeking of whiskey, as he clumsily kisses me and tries to pull off my clothes, but the shackles block them. He clumsily casts another spell to get them off before resuming his actions. This man is well over twenty years my senior, and is quadruple my size. But, despite being crushed and violated while being literally unable to do a thing, the worst possible thing is that I can't shut my eyes or blink at all. It must be something going around, because the cycles of men that seem to come in all seem to perform that one charm on me.

That would be the very least they could do; but to see a face I can never remember over and over again, and being forced to stare back at it, that is the epitome of all the torture I have endured.

**-x-**

The man slams the door behind him, leaving me cold and my shirt half buttoned. He was naturally too lazy to do it, but some have a bit of will to do so afterwards. In a sense, after you a rape a girl, wouldn't you button back up her shirt? That's what you're looking for after all, intimacy in a body shape with open eyes. I heave myself up against the wall, straining with all my pain. I can feel my head and my eyes grow heavy from the lack of sleep I've had. The tension on my arms being pulled up relentlessly doesn't help either. I hang my head, letting my eyelids fall shut a bit too. The cold air sweeps between my shirt and skin, causing goose bumps to ripple all along my skin.

But I try not to think of the fact that I'm cold or that I hurt like hell. So I close my eyes, and I pray for the one sanctuary besides him that I have in this place. I pray for sleep, but my faith has always failed me. It failed me after the first week went by, and the second, and then the third. I can only imagine how many have died in the real world, and if anyone is actually looking for me. Sometimes it feels as though I'm sleeping, when I'm actually wide awake, waiting for something to reach out and pull me into reality.

These days, I don't hope or pray much for someone to save me. I ask for sleep, considering if I do get any, at the most it is under an hour. So, instead, I've put my faith in something, _someone_ who has become my only constant in what my life has become. I wait for hours to hear his voice mutter that spell, and to walk through holding a tray of food. You might think I'd want the food, but each day I feel number, more resistant to the cold floor and the icy air. I can't feel my hunger pains as much as I used to. Every day I wait, because he is my hero. The only obstacle is that he can't save me from my prison hold; we are both its captives.

**-x-**


	2. Hold My Tongue

**-x-**

"What's the weather like?" The only other noise is the sounds of my fork and knife clattering on the tin, battered tray.

He lifts his chin up, staring me down. It must be a quirk, because he always seems to do that when he talks with me. "Outside?"

"No, inside," I giggle. He never does say too much; short answers, straight to the point. His words always seem drawn out, too, like he's wondering right then if he should say it.

"It's cold," he says, like it's a first realization. "It might snow soon."

I grasp the chipped mug in both my hands as I take in the cold water. It may not seem like much, but it really is. He looks away, and then again, in a stone wall prison, there isn't much to look at. His silver eyes don't want to look at me; and when they do, I can feel some sort of longing he has for me. I don't understand it, but in here, I can't understand much.

"How is England doing? Since the break must be coming up and all."

He sighs as he is sitting on the floor across from me. His eyes drift to his shoes, battered and worn. "They've cancelled Quidditch for the time being. It's too dangerous, they say."

"Everything is, isn't it," I mutter as I put the mug back down.

Draco looks back up at me, his expression so utterly blank against his striking features and strong jaw line. Even back in school, I couldn't help but to admire his handsome looks, and once, I thought he caught me staring. I wouldn't dare ask him now. These times have hardened all of us, and you have to prepare for what you can't imagine. Everyone is a threat, and "no survivors" is a common subtitle on the Daily Prophet.

He stares, and lifts his chin a bit, squinting those stormy grey eyes just a bit, as if to focus upon me. Sometimes I want to tell myself that I really am asleep. He is apart of my little fantasy, and he is really just devising a plot to get us both out. Despite he is my captor, he is also a prisoner, and he cares for me.

We sit in silence before a heart-stopping screech echoes through the hallway. I sit up straight, and so does Draco. He jumps up, grabbing the tray and waving his wand. My arms hang above my head as he reaches for the door. But before he leaves, he looks over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

And I believe him, because, after all, you have to believe in your heroes.

**-x-**

I've never seen outside this prison cell. I woke up one day, and I found myself bleeding, crying and in pain. I screamed for help, as it reminded me of one of my nightmares of drowning. I have always been somewhat of a horrible swimmer, if you can imagine my terror. I must've yelled for hours, but time has become nothing but a theory now. Many days have passed, and more days after that, and more days to come.

Patience is no longer the answer; because if I keep my faith, and I keep waiting, I will only suffer more. I hold on to what I have, to what they give me. If there is anything positive about anything, I am grateful. You never realize how lucky you are after you are taken hostage and chained up in a compartment. At first, I was grateful for the food and water I was brought.Now, I am grateful for the air that I breathe.

I forget about the cold walls, and the fact that I will have scars on my wrists forever. I ignore the horrifying men that come to the cell; I focus on things that don't matter. I try to separate myself from this war, considering I am missing in action. I am not important to the War, therefore, why bother? Leave me to bleed, and leave me to starve. It's all for a cause, right? I'd imagine that everyone back home would tell me to suck it up, and it was my own fault to get caught up in this war at a young age. If I wanted to be apart of the war, this was a consequence.

On a rare day, it is more hopeful than others. I can hear faint footsteps walk up and down the unseen hallways. I won't hear the painful screams of other captives as they cry for their freedom and for their loss. My senses are keen, and I can predict when he is coming. I wait for him; waiting in spans of seconds, minutes, hours. They mesh together when you are locked up in a cell made of simple stone. In a way, it's like visiting a foreign country or continent. Since there aren't any windows, day and night become unknown. When you rest your head for the night, it may be three in the afternoon. When you wake, it could be four in the break of day.

This is the waiting game. On average, I have nine or ten hours in between when he comes. I have breakfast and dinner; however, there isn't much difference. Both consist of water, bread and possible cheese. Like I said, it's visiting a distant place in a different time zone, like taking a holiday. Taking an extended holiday, and possibly never seeing home again. Another fear that troubles me the most.

**-x-**

_The bitter air bit into my skin, ripping the flesh apart bit by bit. The deep, amethyst night sky was interrupted with outbursts of red and greens. Faces I'd known all my life ran and fought all around me. Hermione swung her arm out to pull me with her back farther into the darkness of a near forest._

_Her mouth screamed words I couldn't hear in the slightest. It was things like these that made us all forget the times when Lord Voldemort and Death Eaters were horrible tales and memories. Common battles and frequent deaths, quite basically, you couldn't keep a hold of anyone for too long. For a split second her hand let go of mine as she fell to the ground when a stream of red hit in on her side. She moaned and writhed in pain on the dirt ground as I quickly tried to reach and help her. I could see a bit of blood pooling beneath the fabric of her shirt. But before I could even touch her, my mind went blank, and my sight went straight to black._

I snap upright, my mouth already open and screaming. Even if you've ever talked in your sleep, you wouldn't be able to understand the feeling of waking up to yourself screaming. My breathing is shallow and cold sweat slips from my temple down my chin. I look around anxiously; but I'm awake now, feeling just like I did that night. I woke up in a different place, possible a different time. And it made me a different person.

I can feel my heart wrenching in its place as I think of the time passing at the very second. I won't allow myself to cry as I choke on something that I can't let myself admit. It must be a strange sound, drowning out all others; and much to my surprise, I see a familiar silhouette arrive to my hell hole.

He places the dish down, and kneels before me. In those silvery-grey eyes I can see what I am feeling inside of him. I can feel my throat closing as I restrain from even just one tear. If I had the ability, I would turn my body away from him. But instead, he leans forward, and embraces me, whispering something in my ear that I would never expect in such a desolate, torturous cell and from someone that kept me in here.

"I can't stop them."

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**A/N: So, basically, read & review. They're the only thing that's going to make me update this.**


	3. Feel My Time

**-x-**

I suppose the men make it harder. A few empty days pass, and I will convince myself that everything is all right. I am still breathing, and I might just survive. But then I get a pleasant little visitor, and it shatters the lie I've built up for myself to believe in. They rip it apart, and they unknowingly destroy what I used to be, more and more.

I never disregarded the fact that hardships and loneliness could kill someone. I also never threw away the fact that sometimes, your enemy is your savior. It is that thought that it always seems to boil down to.

**-x-**

Losing count of the days and the weeks eases the pressure that seems to be weighing down on me. Each day is new; it may be the first, maybe the last. Numbering all those days just made it harder, and then one day, I realized I didn't know that day's number. And I could feel stress and pressure off my entire frail body lift and evaporate. It made accepting that I would never see daylight again just a bit less distracting.

Awaking from my feeble imitation of sleep, I hear his muttered charm and fumbling to open the door. He closes the door behind him, bringing the scent of the outside world with him. From across the chamber, I see his stormy grey eyes flicker a smile although his mouth doesn't match. Every day his face reverts back from his growing sadness to an emotion I can't place. The more I see it, the warmer it makes me feel inside. It is strange when rivals are put together against a common opponent. However, it also makes you question whether you were rivals to begin with.

Draco unlocks my arms, which have those imprints of thick steel all around them. After placing the tray in front of me, he sits in his usual spot, directly across from me. He lifts his chin up just a bit, and I almost thought I saw a smile as I reached for the mug.

"So," I say after taking a sip. "How's the real world doing?"

He chuckles and crosses his arms over his muscular frame. "You can only guess. Countless drones throwing themselves into a useless war, of course."

Our talk had gone up a scale. We talked of war, noting how we both considered it ineffective to stop violence with violence. At times our old talk of insignificant topics would come up and consume us.

"Once something really devastating happens," I say as I rip apart the bread, "they might wisen up. I hope."

Draco smirks before replying, "I think it's a bit funny. People can be so fearsome of others they will join either side without a single thought."

"You'd never believe the things I've heard about Death Eaters," I silently snicker.

He rolls his eyes, just slightly annoyed; after all, he was one. "And you stupid Order members. All for the good, none for the glory."

"It's not like you truly believe in all of it, and we both know it."

"And it's not like you're truly the prized witch of the Order."

I couldn't help but to let my lip twitch up into a half-smile across my wretched, dirty face from months lack of washing. "I reckon we both are misfits. After all, it's not like I really understand this whole thing. I just joined because no one thought I could handle it."

"And look at you," he smirks, almost proudly. "A prisoner of war, for how long? Some months."

"Let us not forget the grandest of all frauds, Draco Malfoy," I say with a mock imitation of him.

Draco raises an eyebrow in his clever, playful manner before demanding, "Please, do explain to me."

"It's not like you're like any of the other Death Eaters," I say with a simple shrug and avoiding eye contact. "You obviously agree with some matters, but I don't think you like war. I don't think you like fighting all that much either."

We sit in silence for just a few minutes before he unknowingly cracks an incredible handsome grin that sends tremors down my spine. "Sometimes you're so observant, and clever it's almost creepy."

I place the tray down on the ground again. "Paying attention to details can either get you praise or it'll get you a beating."

Draco stares back at me, with those grey eyes penetrating through my barrier to my thoughts. "I know what you mean."

He pushes himself up, and kneels beside me, cleaning up the tray. As he reaches to chain my arms back up, I can't help to let myself watch his silver eyes flicker over all the details, and even snatch a look at me. My arms hang above my head, once more, and he pushes himself up.

"Goodbye," he says somewhat solemnly.

He waits a moment, expecting me to answer, but I never do. Saying goodbye here is useless. Nothing changes, no one leaves. It is only a bit of hope that one of us may leave, and then the other will decay into loneliness.

**-x-**

_He held his muscular, tanned arm downward at me as I lay out on the grass. Harry had always been handsome, but as he grew older it seemed to grow with him. I lifted my sunglasses off my nose and propped myself up on an elbow. It was my clandestine tanning spot, walking distance from my house, yet completely concealed and a total secret. Naturally, I hadn't been expecting him._

"_Can't you see I'm tanning?"_

"_Can't you see I'm waiting for you?" he replied simply with a small smile._

_I let my sunglasses fall back on my face as I looked up at him. I let my most playful smile take over the atmosphere. "Why you don't you stay here with me?_

_It was well enough for him as he sat down on the cool grass next to me on that steaming summer day. I laid back down on the grass in my two-piece as Harry stretched his arms behind his head and stared up at the clouds. It had to be the hottest day of the entire summer, my first summer as an adult, not a student. I have to say, it wasn't nearly as exciting as I wanted it to be. I couldn't go out much, and I lost touch with many of my close friends. This was seventeen, almost eighteen in fact._

_Harry turned on his side, gazing right through the lenses of my sunglasses. I could feel the stress and pressure he was putting on himself. His birthday had only been a few days before, leaving mine to a few days in the future. I lifted the frames once again, but putting them on the ground instead. Turning to face him, I was captivated by the sight of his emerald green orbs, just like when I was eleven. I could feel it in my spine; it was the start something, for better or for worse. _

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A/N: Yay, thank you for reviewss! Just a note, JulieMalfoyZabini, it's supposed to be sort of ambiguous. Once again, please read & reviewreviewreview.


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